


Exile

by GuyGraves



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuyGraves/pseuds/GuyGraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren can't handle his loss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exile

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THE FOLLOWING:  
> Self Harm  
> Suicide Attempt  
> Depressive Thoughts  
> Death
> 
> Thankyou, friends :) Please do take into account what I've said, I will not be responsible for anyone's reaction to being triggered.
> 
> Title and lyrics throughout the story are based on the song Exile Vilify by the National.

""Exile  
It takes your mind again  
Exile  
It takes your mind again  
You've got suckers' luck  
Have you given up?""

"We... We're sorry Kieren." His dad looked away. "He died heroically, he fought for us."  
That was dad, Kieren thought. Good old dad. Trying to make the best of a situation, even when there was no best. No best in anything.  
He stood up slowly, his movements mechanical, and turned from his parents, heading towards the door.  
"Kieren? Kieren!" His mum called after him but he didn't stop walking. He couldn't, his legs kept moving by themselves.  
He reached his room and sat on the bed.   
He felt nothing. He was empty. He had expected some kind of backlash, some tears, maybe some screaming. But it just wasn't coming. Only an empty feeling in his chest, his stomach, swallowing the rest of him bit by bit. This was worse. He'd felt this before and it was worse, and he knew what was coming.

 

""Does it feel like a trial?  
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?""

When he woke that morning he pulled out his box. He and Ricks box. Photos, he registered, fumbling through them blindly, barely feeling them stick to his fingers. They were falling, and he couldn't bend to pick them up.  
'Rick.'  
'Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick...' he repeated quietly. 'Why did I let them take you.'  
He lay there and held his breath until he couldn't any longer.   
Darkness scratched at the edges of his vision and he took comfort in it.  
It was clear now. At least he knew what had happened. At least he wasn't confused anymore. It was his fault, he thought, if he could have kept his mouth shut, if he could have kept his head down and his god damn mix CD to himself, this wouldn't have happened. Rick wouldn't be dead.  
He stood, not entirely aware of what he was doing, and sat at his desk, pulling out his drawing pad and a pencil, and he started drawing long, thin lines from one side of the page to the other. He kept drawing and drawing, more and more lines until the page was almost black with pencil.  
"Kieren?"   
He didn't pause, just kept lining the page.  
"Kieren," his mums voice says from the doorway. "Breakfast is on the table."  
He still doesn't respond, just continues drawing.  
"Kieren, please." She pleads.

""Exile  
It takes your mind again  
Exile  
It takes your mind again  
Oh, you meant so much  
Have you given up?""

They keep trying to talk to him, his parents. They keep poking and prodding, his dad's sad efforts at comforting him, his mums meaningless remarks, Jems scared little face.   
He couldn't speak. He didn't know why. He wanted to respond, to thank them for caring and tell them he was going to be okay, but he'd open his mouth and the words would refuse to come out.  
"Rick...Brave...War...Not your fault...Please...". These were some of the words he picked out, and he laughed them internally. Not his fault. Pfft.

 

""Does it feel like a trial?  
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?  
Does it feel like a trial?  
Now you're thinking too fast   
You're like marbles on glass""

His mother was talking at him again, trying to offer comforts and cups of tea or coffee.   
"Kieren, you have to know that this isn't your fault. Rick decided t-"  
A quiet laugh breaks her words in half. His family all wear expressions of shock.  
"Not my fault." he laughs again, his voice rough from not talking for days.  
"Kieren-" his dad starts.  
"Not-my-fault." Kieren raises his eyes to the ceiling. "Do you hear this Rick? What bullshit." he croaks.  
"Kieren, are yo-"   
"Yes, yes absolutely. In all honesty, dad, I can't feel a thing. It's swallowed up everything I have, so I don't feel sad." the tone of his voice heightens. His thoughts begin to race.  
"Swallowed... What are you talking about Kieren?" - His mothers voice.  
He looks around, Jem looks terrified. Her mouth hangs open and her face is pale, but he can't stop.  
"This emptiness mum, this dark, dark place inside of me that I didn't even know existed. Well, not to that extent anyway, I knew a part of it but never did I imagine it could go this deep, consume this much so quickly mum." he's talking fast, his hands are shaking and tears are welling up in his eyes.  
"It was always so slow, a little bit every day, a comment or a thought or an action or a sound, a taste of something bitter or the feel of a memory, it would eat up little bits and pieces." he breathes heavily.  
"But now, now it's all happening at once, it's eating and eating and it's taking everything and all the light... All the light is just..." he chokes and realises how ridiculous he sounds. He coughs through his tears. His dad leads Jem from the room quietly. His mum takes his hand and leads him upstairs, steering him forwards to keep him from falling against the walls. 

"I love you," she whispers. "You're going to be okay."   
Kieren laughs into his pillow again. A broken, humourless sound.  
When his mum leaves he reaches slowly into his pillowcase, and pulls out the Swiss Army knife he was given by his dad. He fiddles with it for a while and finally gets it open, and lays there looking at the blade. He lifts his arm and presses the blade against his skin, and stays that way for a while, the metal pressing into him. Then he slowly slides the blade from one side to the other, and blood wells up and trickles down his arm.   
So easy, he thought, like ripping paper.   
He falls into a restless sleep shortly afterwards.

 

""You've got suckers' luck  
Have you given up?  
Does it feel like a trial?  
Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?  
Does it feel like a trial?  
Did you fall for the same empty answers again?""

Kieren is writing. He doesn't usually write, but this is special writing, a special occasion.  
He folds the letter and slides it into it's envelope, licking the edges and smoothing them down, sealing it.  
Kieren thinks for a little while, just sits and thinks. He looks at the drawings on the walls, the light on the ceiling, the dreary day outside of his window. Then back at the envelope.  
They don't need that, that's just stupid Kieren. Stupid, stupid, stupid. They don't need a letter from someone like you. All that is is selfish. It's selfish and narcissistic, he thinks to himself, and though he knows the thought doesn't make much sense, he can't stop thinking it.  
He stands and retrieves the knife from under his pillow. He has to mess around with it to figure out how to open it again, but eventually manages it and slides the blade under the envelope seal, opening it and removing the letter once more.  
He takes a lighter from his pocket and holds it up to the letter, and with a grind of the flint the letter is burning slowly.   
It burns until there is only a small corner left of the paper, and it is singeing Kierens fingertips.

""Vilify  
Don't even try""

He stumbles through the forest, leaves and green things pass him by without making themselves clear. His head hurts and his arms shake but he doesn't stop running. Not until he reaches it.

""Vilify  
Don't even try""

He reaches it, their place, the safe place. That's where he'll meet Rick, as usual. Or maybe he won't. Either way, he won't have to be here anymore. He climbs into the cave and stands as straight as he can, holding his knife tightly. He grips it, holds out his wrist, stabs and pulls. He grits his teeth and a rough noise escapes his throat.

""Vilify""

He slumps against the cave wall and slides to the ground, leaning on the rock, feeling the cold seep through his clothes. This is it, he thinks, as he begins slipping away. I'm okay now.  
He lets the shadows finish with him.

"Don't even try."


End file.
